Strawberry Ice Cream
by hanareader
Summary: Carlos is walking around and hears an the bells of an ice cream cart. Manned by 'Alfred'. Hmm... AU Modern-day. One-shot.


Carlos = Cuba

AU Modern-day. One-shot.

* * *

'_Today's a good day,'_ thought the dark-skinned man as he walked through the park. His flower-printed shirt flowed in the outside breeze, his dreadlocks following with it, and the simple cargo shorts he wore flapped against his knees. The man was walking to no where in particular; he just wanted to inhale in some fresh open air, rather than the cigar-clogged oxygen he was used to in the comforts of his home. And his apartement was too murky, he realized as his body experienced the bright, sunny heat of the sun. He should go out more, especially on good days like this.

That would've been fine and dandy except for the fact that his mouth watered; he was kind of craving ice cream. Strawberry, to be exact. His stomach grumbled at the sight, a whopping tub full of his favorite ice cream, chill yet soft to perfection... Too bad such an ice cream was only at home. And that it was too much of a good day to go home now and eat it.

Carlos sighed. Running a hand through his dreadlocks he scratched his head for any other options. Maybe he could go to a nearby ice cream shop and buy something there? But he couldn't go to any ice cream shops, there were none around. It was all about the frozen yogurt these days...

Ugh, that reminded him. Evil frozen yogurt. The last time he had frozen yogurt was at Antonio's house, a last resort of finding no ice cream in the Spaniard's fridge. And then he found out that the strawberry yogurt he had stuffed into his mouth was a gift from Alfred. He almost threw up that day, screaming for a doctor to pump his stomach. No way was he gonna go through that again.

Carlos sighed again. He figured he might as well go home if there was no ice cream. And maybe while he was at it he could smoke one of his cigars, try to perfect his heart-shaped smoke drawing. He would win all the ladies with that.

Turning around, the chubby Cuban continued walking down the park path set for him, whistling along the way. He was humming a simple serenade when a piercing bell interrupted his rhythm.

'Ding. Ding. Ding,' this bell chanted. Carlos followed the source of the noise only to find a simple ice cream cart. Carlos shaded his eyes from the sun, and stared.

There was a man behind the cart, it seemed, someone quietly guarding its contents. The Cuban moved closer, and was finally able to notice the man's blond hair, separate curl, prominent glasses...

"Alfred!" Carlos stormed towards the cart, hands itching to shove the whole thing down. 'Alfred' jumped in fright. "Who the hell said you could be here, you lying, little bastard! I thought I said never to come near me or where I live!"

The blond man furiously crossed his hands in front of him, as if to say 'no'. "I'm not Alfred," he said softly, to the point that the Cuban had to get closer in order to hear him. "Alfred is my brother; I'm sure you're mistaken."

"Don't lie to me! I'd know Alfred when I see him. He's an obnoxious piece of caca that I can smell from a mile away. What are you doing here, man?!" Carlos snatched at the other's collar, raising the poor guy off the ground and leaving him hanging at his neck.

"No really, I'm not!" The blond insisted, shaking his head desperately. "My name is Matthew! Matthew Williams: Alfred's half-brother!"

Carlos squinted. Really hard. He inspected the other man intently, poking and prodding at the other's hair curl. "Hmm," he mused, then without letting him down removed the other man's glasses. There he was met with the most stunning of eyes, a soft violet that was much too gentle to belong to the American he knew and hated. Carlos lowered the other man down slowly, releasing his grip on his collar. "I guess my eyes aren't as good as they used to be. Ha-ha," the Cuban laughed awkwardly to himself.

Matthew's mouth slightly twitched upwards. "It's okay; I get that a lot. I've been used to being mistaken for my brother. Though not like this..."

"A heh heh," Carlos scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry, man, it's just that Alfred is such a bit-" At the look of Matthew waiting patiently for his sentence to finish, he faltered. "He's such an... annoying guy," he finished lamely.

"I'm sure he is," the blond man smiled softly.

"Este... Can I buy an ice cream off you? To make up for what just happened?" Carlos looked hopefully at the guy.

"Sure." Matthew stated happily, and moved back to his position behind the cart. "What can I get for you?"

Carlos looked down at his options, the reflective glass screen cover showing the many flavors within. He pointed down at the only pink ice cream and asked. "That's strawberry, right?" Matthew nodded. "A scoop of strawberry, por favor."

Moving swiftly, the Canadian snagged from under the cart a cone, and with the tell-tale ice cream scoop, he scooped up a whooping amount of fruity goodness. Matthew handed in the ice cream, "One-dollar and fifty cents.(1)" Carlos took it, then looked back down into the cart.

"What's your favorite ice cream?" he asked absently, as he glanced between the flavors inside.

Matthew hesitated. "Um... my favorite is vanilla."

"Entonces, another scoop; vainilla."

At his demand, the Canadian prepared yet another cone, his mind whirring blindly. For all the apparent hate this Cuban had with his brother he sure did act like him. He ate almost as much as Alfred.

"Here," the Canadian said, outstretching his hand for the other to reach his cone. "That will be another one-fifty, please." The Cuban fumbled for his wallet, sifting out a five-dollar bill.

"Gracias," he said with a lick to his own strawberry cone. "That one is for you," he pointed at the vanilla in the other man's hand.

"Eh?" Matthew looked down at his hand. "Oh no, I couldn't take this-"

"And here is the payment," Carlos slipped the five on top of the cart, patting it gently. "Thanks for the ice cream, man, I needed it." He waved and turned, beginning to walk away.

"Hey wait, you still have change-"

"Keep it, mi amigo, I want you to have it."

Carlos kept walking, ignoring the insistent calls to 'please, get his change back'. Instead the Cuban smiled, then took another lick of his ice cream. _'Mhmm,'_ he thought as the sweet pink, chilling goodness melted in his mouth. _'Today really is a good day.'_

* * *

So I did this one-shot to practice putting more narration into my stories, because goodness gracious do I need it. Thanks for reading~

(1): Sorry guys, I'm American and I have no clue of other countries' financial representation? Fancy word for it... Plus I don't know the average value of ice cream in other places. That's why it might seem weird that Carlos, or rather Cuba, would buy something with American money when he completely detests America... And that is also why the location of these characters is so vague. Please play along with my lack of effort  
~


End file.
